


I Will Go To You Like The First Snow

by MissClaraOswinOswald



Series: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Goblin The Lonely and Great God AU, Goblins, Grim Reapers, Molly Hooper Appreciation, POV Molly Hooper, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Angst, Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, Sherlolly Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissClaraOswinOswald/pseuds/MissClaraOswinOswald
Summary: Reichenbach/ Grim Reaper AU – Sherlock does die when he jumps off the Barts roof, only to become a Grim Reaper in his afterlife. Sherlock is the grim reaper who comes for Molly when she gets in a car accident three years later. She also has been chosen to become a grim reaper. Written for Sherlolly Appreciation Week Day 3 "first kiss".





	1. Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Happy Sherlolly Week! Today I'm back with another fic, this one has three separate chapters (for your reading pleasure). I chose the "first kiss" theme for today. This fic is heavily influenced and inspired by the South Korean drama "Goblin: The Lonely and Great God" (or "Guardian: The Lonely and Great God", or "Dokkaebi"; the drama goes by several names. You really should watch it, if you haven't ). Maybe you've noticed that the first 2 fics have titles that are songs from the Goblin soundtrack. You even could say this ficlet a Goblin AU. If you enjoyed this fic, please leave kudos or comment! I'll see you guys tomorrow with "Double Trouble Couple"!

She had loved him. Oh, how she had loved him. Her love for him had been a rollercoaster, from the beginning to the end, dazzling in the middle. With the saddest ending possible. He'd said his goodbyes hours before he jumped off that roof.

"Molly," he'd whispered, when he saw her for the last time, "I have to go."

"Don't say that, Sherlock."  
  
He'd ruffled his hair, and chuckled. "It's Moriarty, my dearest. " 

She'd seen he'd accepted his fate, but it didn't mean she was ready to. She'd thrown herself into his arms and cried. Cried for ages. He had simply held her, pressed a kiss on her hair every now and then, and let her cry. He'd given her a ring, silver with a small blue stone. 

"Remember me. I will go to you like the first snow. Remember me when you see rain when you see snow. Just spare me a thought every now and then," he whispered in her ear before he kissed her softly. 

"I am going to call Mycroft. He can't sacrifice you for the greater good," Molly told him after they broke their kiss. Their first kiss. And he chose to make it their last at the same time.

"He isn't sacrificing me for the greater good. I am. I cannot live in a world where they think I'm a fraud. If I have defeated Moriarty, at least I know I didn't die for nothing."

She actually got her phone out to call Mycroft. Sherlock grabbed her hand. "Very romantic, Molly Hooper. I have accepted my fate. Don't try to change it." He looked at her once more. " _I am going now. You, Mycroft and John, the ones left behind, you should live even more, since I cannot. You might cry from time to time but you should smile a lot and cheer up. You should find someone to love, who can give you as much love as you have offered me. You are obligated to do that_."*

Those were the last words he said to her. He'd left immediately after he'd said those words, only to jump off the roof three hours later. She'd seen his corpse. Mycroft had asked her to take care of it. His corpse was so pale, so incredibly pale. His neck was broken. But in death, he still looked beautiful. She'd refused to perform an autopsy on him, to protect her own memories. His cause of death was clear enough. There hadn't been a funeral. Only a grave with a headstone was what was left of the great detective that went by the name of Sherlock Holmes.

That was three years ago. And every time Molly thought of Sherlock, it still felt like he died yesterday.

She sat crossed legged in front of his grave, on the blanket she'd taken.  
  
"Hi Sherlock," she said to the black headstone, "I hope you have been well, wherever you are. I miss you. I got a new case yesterday. Murder victim. He was stabbed to death twenty-three times. I am sure you would have enjoyed the case."

She chuckled, looking at the white flowers on his grave. "Have Mary and John visited you lately? It was a shame you weren't at his wedding, Mary's pregnant now, and they have asked me if I would consider the possibility of being the baby's godmother. I said yes, of course. You know how badly I wanted a child of my own. You would have liked Mary. She's smart and funny. I think she's the perfect fit for John."

Molly sighed and stopped talking. She was crying silently for the man in the coffin six feet down. If she'd only seen the dark figure watching her.

 

* * *

 

She wore earphones when she was walking home since she needed the music as a distraction. She crossed the street without looking. She had stopped caring about her life, one way or another. After Sherlock died, things just became dull and gray. She didn't hear the car approaching her. She only felt the car hitting her body. That's when everything went black.

She woke up, lying on the street. It was a head-on hit.

A man stood next to her. "Molly Hooper? Age 35? Born in Southend-on-sea?" He read off a card.

Molly was disorientated. "Yes, that's me."

"Please come with me," the man offered her a hand.

She took it gratefully but startled when she looked at the man's face. "Sherlock!"

He smiled softly. "Yes, it's me. Please come."

She let Sherlock take her. "But how? You died three years ago!"

He shook his head. "I will explain later." They walked for a while before they arrived at a white house. Sherlock opened the door. "Please, come in."

The room looked so old. The floor was marble, and candles were lit. The only furniture in the room was a simple wooden table with two chairs.

"Please, sit down," Sherlock asked her. She obeyed while he made tea. He put the tea in front of her.

"Why am I here?" She asked.

"You died in the car crash," Sherlock explained.

"This is heaven, right? You've become an angel?" She smiled, "I hoped so."

"You are dead, Molly."

"I died the day you went away, Sherlock," she said seriously, "My death isn't significant."

"To answer your question, I am no angel. I am a grim reaper," he looked at the tea in front of her, " _Humans have four lives: a life of planting seeds, a life of watering the seeds, a life of harvesting and a life of cherishing the harvests_.** Your life is over now, my dearest. You did well."

"I didn't even get even past stage two," Molly answered, "How is that good?"

"You can choose. You can drink this tea, forget all about this life and move on to heaven, or choose to remember and stay on earth as a ghost," he smiled, "I don't recommend the latter."

She looked at the tea. "Does that mean I'll forget you too?"

He nodded.

She stood up, walked around the table. "I don't want to forget you."

Sherlock stood up. "It's the best for you, Molly."

She pressed her lips to his, for the last time. Then she drank the tea.

"Goodbye, my dearest," Sherlock said.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." Molly walked out the door, to the afterlife.

* * *

Molly didn't expect afterlife to be a corporate office with a man in a black suit sitting behind a desk.

"Miss Hooper, welcome," He pointed at a chair, "Sit."

"Who are you?"

"You have been selected, miss Hooper," the man said. Molly felt she didn't really have another choice than sitting down.

"For what?"

"You are going to be a grim reaper," The man snapped his fingers, and a leather folder and black fedora appeared, "This Is your folder. New assignments will appear in it. You need to fill out a registration form for every soul you reap. Wear the hat. Humans can't see you when you wear the hat."

"I want to go to Heaven," Molly said.

"That is not up to you. My superior has decided to give you your memories of your past life back, and to make you a grim reaper."

"That's it? No explanation, only a hat and a folder?"

"Since all our classes are full, you get a personal teacher. He will be there every step of your training. He's waiting outside for you. Go now."

She took the fedora and the folder and went outside. So she wasn't allowed to go to Heaven; she was sentenced to living an immortal life. Only to harvest souls for all eternity. To become a being that was eternally stuck between life and death. It seemed misery was still following her, even after death.

Her new trainer was casually leaning against the wall. "Hello," Molly greeted him politely.

"I'm your new trainer – wait, _you_ are my new trainee?" Sherlock said surprised. Molly could see the hurt in his eyes. "I asked them to get your name off the list," He sighed, "They never listen to me."

"If you still ask people things the same way you did when you were alive, it's no surprise to me," Molly mumbled.

"Well then. You are going to live with me. Do you have any clothes we can get from your apartment?"

"I died today."

"Yes, and now we are going to get your clothes. I live still at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson is a goblin, and she agreed on letting me stay there."

"She's a what?"

"Goblin. Sort of guardian, she helps people. She's also immortal."

"Oh." Molly felt incredibly stupid. Her lips set in a grim line. She'd died this morning, had tea with Sherlock during the early afternoon and was told she was going to be a grim reaper before dinner. No one should blame her for feeling overwhelmed. They went to her house, to get all the stuff she thought she'd need or wanted to keep. "I won't take everything. It would only look suspicious if I did. But who will come here? It's not like I have any relatives to clean my apartment out," Molly told Sherlock. He kept silent. Maybe he didn't know what to say, Molly thought to herself. He carried her stuff back to the cab.

He had changed in the past three years. He hadn't aged a day, but Molly could see this work, this 'being a grim reaper' thing had taken its toll on Sherlock.

221b looked actually clean, for once. There were no papers attached to the wall with a knife, cigarette butts or dust everywhere. Sherlock pointed at the ceiling. "You will sleep upstairs."

He gave her a credit card. "Buy everything you want or need – the supervisors really don't care about money."

Molly shrugged. She was content with living a quiet life. She didn't need to spend all the money in the world in order to be happy. She'd learned that after her dad died. He had lived a quiet life but was the happiest man Molly knew. Helping people equated happiness for her. She wondered how Sherlock was dealing with his thoughts now since the thrill of the case was gone. Whether he was using drugs again to numb that pain. She was glad he was "dead" when Mycroft told them about Eurus. Molly wasn't sure how Sherlock would have coped with that revelation if he'd been alive. The man she'd seen today was still her Sherlock, but different. He was nicer, she realized. He hadn't said a single mean word to her today.

He had redecorated John's bedroom, or maybe Mrs. Hudson did. New red velvet curtains were put up and the king-size bed was something Molly really appreciated. The bedroom felt classy yet simple. She let herself fall on the bed. Today had been a tiring day.

Her new grim reaper's hat was sitting on the bedside table. Not that she remembered putting it there. A self-moving hat wasn't the strangest thing she'd seen today. She could live with a self-moving fedora. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the fedora actually move. She did not think the fear of being suffocated by the self-moving fedora that would appear in that case would be very beneficial for her quality of sleep.

How crazy could her life get as a grim reaper? Yesterday she was worrying about work, now she was worrying about a self-moving fedora.

She chuckled. She assumed she was immortal now, but did she still have to sleep and eat? Her stomach answered that question for her. No sleep for her, then. Dinner had more priority.

Molly sighed and zipped a bag open to find some clothes to change in. She got a pair of sneakers out. They were worn-out, but Molly loved them to pieces.

"You won't be able to wear those to work, you know."

Molly was startled. Sherlock was standing in the doorway.

"How did you do that?"

With the blink of an eye, Sherlock was standing next to her. "Perks of being a grim reaper."

Molly looked at the pair of Converse shoes in her hand. "Why can't I wear them?"

"You're a grim reaper. We have a dress code."

"You're kidding me."

"I'm not. Black clothing is mandatory, just like the fedora."

Molly chuckled. "How long have you known me, Sherlock? When have I ever worn something black?"

"In the time I was alive, about seven years. You've only worn black once in my presence, at a Christmas party," he answered automatically.

Molly looked at him. "You remember what I wore that night?"

He seemed surprised. "Yes, you looked beautiful."

Molly looked away and started gratuitously folding a t-shirt. She really did not know how to respond to that.

"Erm, thanks?" She mumbled, "Can we get some food? I'm starving."

Sherlock looked caught off guard. "You can get some take-out, there's a good Thai place a few blocks from here."

"Seriously? I can go and have dinner on my own?" was her response.

"I'm not hungry," he replied. That was the Sherlock Molly knew and loved.

* * *

In the end, Molly went alone, got lost and called Sherlock anyway. He appeared immediately to help her out. They had dinner together anyway.

No words were spoken while they were eating. Molly just watched Sherlock stabbing his food with a knife. She'd only asked him if he liked Thai food. He'd answered that it depended on his mood.

They walked back to the apartment; Sherlock told her about being a grim reaper. About the rough days. Sherlock said the reaping could almost be a cheerful affair. Some souls were so pure that meeting them was an honor. According to Sherlock, that was the best part of the job.

Molly wasn't sure what she wanted to believe. She wanted to go to Heaven, not to stick around here.

"What happened to my body?" She asked.

"It's gone. We took care of it."

"No one has seen me die? No one knows I died?" She asked surprised.

"No one. I was selected to be a grim reaper a couple of hours after you performed the autopsy on me."

"That's why your body was gone...," Molly stood still, "Wait, why didn't you come back? If I'd known you were sort-of alive I would have done better. John took a serious hit. We all did, mister. You could have come back," she crossed her arms, "Ridiculous."

"I couldn't."

"Rubbish," she made a hand gesture, "You even cleaned up Baker Street. Baker Street! And then you're here saying you can't tell your friends you're still alive."

She laughed ironically.

"This is the best for everyone," he answered.

"No. It isn't. You know why? People are hurting. People care more about you than you think."

She left him standing on the street. She teleported herself back to her rooms, somehow. Molly was infuriated with him. She would go back to being a pathologist first thing in the morning.

Maybe if she tried hard enough, she would wake up in her own flat tomorrow morning. She would still be alive, she would still have a future. That car accident had taken everything from her.

Yes, she had Sherlock back, yet it still felt like a part of his soul was missing. He was behaving strangely. Grim reapers. Closer to being vampires than humans, although still in need of food and sleep. It was definitely something. Molly hadn't made up her mind about being a grim reaper.


	2. The Most Beautiful Souls

Molly covered her head with a spare pillow to prevent seeing the early morning light. Molly did not want to get up because she had to face reality that way. Let's stay in bed and pretend yesterday never happened, she thought to herself.

Mrs. Hudson came in – Molly could tell from the sound of the footsteps. "Molly, I've got your breakfast."

Molly rolled over on her stomach. "I don't want breakfast."

Mrs. Hudson put the plate down. "You do. You'll need some. It's your first day, after all."

"I'm going to Barts," Molly grabbed a sandwich of the plate and took a bite, "This is really good. Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I don't think you're understanding it, dearie. Your supervisors have resigned in your place."

"No way." Molly sat up straight, "I'm a pathologist, not a grim reaper."

Mrs. Hudson sat down on Molly's bed. "We can't do anything about that, dear. Some deity has decided being a grim reaper is your fate," she held Molly's hand, "We didn't choose this life for you, Molly. Yes, we are immortal, but this life gets lonely. I was happy when Sherlock moved in; you don't meet other immortals that often. I wish your soul could have gone to heaven, but that is not the case."

"You're making me sad," Molly whispered, "Please stop."

"Eat your sandwich, Molly. Sherlock expects you ready in twenty minutes."

"I thought you were not his housekeeper?"

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "I'm only trying to help you."

Molly ate her sandwich and got up. With much effort, she found a black dress with white birds on it and a black cardigan. It was a miracle she actually owned something black.

She went downstairs to shower; Molly was relieved that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. When she came out of the bathroom, he was standing casually in the middle of the kitchen.

"Get dressed. You don't want to delay your training." Molly ignored him and went upstairs, only to return fifteen minutes later.

"I'm going to Barts," she told Sherlock.

"No, you aren't," He threw a black trench coat at her, "Put that on. We're leaving."

Molly caught the coat effortlessly. _That's new_ , she thought to herself, _my reflexes have never been that good_.

"I'm not going to wear all black," she answered, "At least let me wear my own coat."

"I can't. I've got orders," Sherlock said stubbornly, "When you've finished your training you can talk to your superiors about your dress code complaints."

Molly shook her head. "I can't believe some god agreed on this destiny." She buttoned the coat up and went downstairs.

Unsurprisingly, and ironically, it was raining. Sherlock gave her an umbrella.

"Do you've got your leather folder?" Sherlock asked. Molly nodded, gave it to him. He got several cards out.

"Lily James, age: two months. The cause of death: injuries after a car crash. Time of death: 10:30, April 6," Sherlock gave the card to Molly. He continued reading. "Evan James, age: 32. The cause of death: injuries after a car crash. Time of death: 10:35, April 6," He sighed, "Michelle James-Baker, age: 31. The cause of death: injuries after a car crash. Time of death: 10:34, April 6."

Molly looked at Sherlock speechlessly. "You expect me to reap the soul of a baby? Of a newborn girl that hasn't lived at all? You know how hard children's autopsies are on me! Why would you do this?"

Sherlock looked away. "I didn't. I cannot influence whose souls we are going to reap." He moved his hand to Molly's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You have to do this, I'll help you. It's your new life. We cannot change this."

Together, they started walking to the scene of the upcoming car crash. Sherlock instructed her to wear her hat, in order to be invisible to other humans than the dead. Molly obeyed, although wearing the fedora and a completely black outfit made this all feel like she ended up in an episode of _American Horror Story: Coven_ instead. _A fedora that makes you invisible,_ she thought _, how can I take this life seriously?_

They arrived at the car crash a couple of minutes past half past ten. Two persons were standing next to the wrecked car. It hit a tree and a fire was starting now. They looked horrified.

"Let me go first," Sherlock whispered, "Evan James? Michelle James-Baker? 32 and 31?"

"Yes, that's us," the woman answered.

"Lily James?" Molly asked hesitantly.

"That's our little girl," the man pointed at the baby the woman was holding.

"I think you know why we're here. Please come with us," Sherlock said and offered the man his hand. Molly did the same thing for the woman. They teleported to the tearoom Molly had drunk tea the day before. She sat down with the parents while Sherlock was making tea.

"Where are we?" The man asked.

"The tearoom. It's your last stop," Molly answered automatically. She didn't know why she'd spoken or how she'd found the courage to speak those words.

"Before what?" The woman asked.

"Afterlife," Sherlock answered. He put the cups in front of the couple. He sat down. "You three died in that crash. The tea will help you forget your memories of this life. It will help you move on to the afterlife. If you don't drink it, you will stay on earth as an unhappy ghost. The little one doesn't have many memories of this life, so she doesn't have to drink the tea. She will go to the afterlife."

"I will drink the tea," the woman said, "I won't let my daughter go alone."

"So will I," the father said, "I will not leave my wife and daughter."

Molly was deeply moved by the small family, their love that was so clearly visible. Suddenly she felt sad, although somehow, knowing that they would go to Heaven provided some comfort.

The two drank their tea, and walked outside, seemingly at peace. Molly wiped a tear from her cheek. "That was beautiful."

"You were complaining this morning," Sherlock answered.

"I didn't know it could be this peaceful. I only saw the bodies on the slab, Sherlock."

He cleaned the table. "You'll find a script in your folder. It contains all the things you have to say when a client comes in. You're free now. I have a few clients scheduled this afternoon."

Molly saw this as a very clear signal to leave. She walked out the door and found herself at Piccadilly Circus. "He could have warned me," she mumbled and hurried to find a cab.

* * *

Sherlock worked the entire afternoon. Being a grim reaper could in no way be compared to being a consulting detective. He used to snare, to shout at people, but now he was actually thoughtful. He missed making deductions, so every once in a while, he went to Scotland Yard, stole some of the case files of Lestrade's desk and solved the cases for him. He would return the files a couple of days later, with a paper with the "how, why, and who"'s added to it.

He wished he could tell Molly he really understood this anger she was going through because he'd gone through it too. He started deducing the moment he saw his supervisors, he started making deductions about ghosts too. But as a grim reaper, you know their stories when you serve them tea. He refused to reap souls, but they'd tortured him. It was either being a grim reaper and living comfortably for the rest of eternity, or being locked up in a cellar and getting punished every now and then.

They said that grim reapers became grim reapers because they had committed severe crimes in their past lives, of which they have no memory. Ever since Sherlock returned as a grim reaper, he wondered what he had done wrong. He could remember only bits of his life as Sherlock Holmes. His fate wasn't the only thing on his mind right now. Molly was omnipresent. What had she done in her previous life to deserve a punishment like this?

He could recall most moments from his past life, but a lot of pieces were missing too. He assumed that those were the mistakes he'd made, the crimes he'd committed. His colleagues had told him he was lucky. Usually, grim reapers were 'born' without any memories or a name. They were nameless beings.

Being a grim reaper was a punishment without an ending.

Perhaps working for a bureaucratic company that specialized in reaping souls for the rest of eternity was something that most people would consider a punishment. Sherlock did not.

Dismantling Moriarty's network, that would have been a nightmare.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he called. She came in.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"How did I die?"

She looked at him, surprised. "You know just as well as I do that I am not allowed to tell you about your past lives. It's a miracle the deity let you keep some memories, let alone allowed you to keep your name instead of being a nameless grim reaper. There is a reason why you've become this being. It is not my place to tell you. You need to figure that out on your own, Mr. Holmes." She turned around and went downstairs.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He hated not knowing.

* * *

Molly received another card in her folder later that day. She had to go to the hospital and reap the soul of an old man, who'd passed away from old age. When she made him the tea, he told her that he was grateful for this life, that he hoped to be born again one day so he could see his family. He drank the tea and left for heaven. She was glad she could do that for him. He was on his way now. She did realize not every day would be like this one. There would be days when she had o reap souls of the unworthy, the 'bad' souls.

"Are you new?" Another woman wearing a black fedora asked her when she was getting coffee.

"Yeah," Molly said, "I'm Molly."

"You have a name?" The woman said surprised, "You're so lucky. I don't have one."

"I know," Molly said as she got the coffee, "I'll see you around, I have to get a soul now."

"Good luck."

She really had to talk to one of her supervisors. Something wasn't right and at this stage, Sherlock couldn't provide her with any more answers. She went back to Canary Wharf, where the office of the Grim Reapers was housed. She felt insignificant, standing in front of the building. She was Molly freaking Hooper, for Christ's sake. She could ask a few questions. She waltzed into the office, demanding to see the person in charge. She didn't think she was taken seriously- what's more, they actually listened. Within five minutes, a woman wearing a tight-fitting dress and the highest Louboutin's Molly had ever seen was standing in front of her. "Hello, darling."

Molly stood up from the seat she was sitting in. "Hello."

"I am Irene Adler, I am in charge of this whole thing. Please, sit down."

Molly was taken completely by surprise. "I heard you have some questions," Irene said.

"I do, yes," Molly said, crossing her legs, "Why was I allowed to keep my name?"

"That's an easy one, darling. You were allowed to keep your name because you are an a-typical Grim Reaper. Do you know why people become grim reapers?"

Molly shook her head.

"People become grim reapers because they committed some crimes while they were alive. After they died, they weren't allowed to drink the tea to forget those memories. We gave them two choices: drink the tea and become a grim reaper, or stay down in Hell. Of course, they opt to drink the tea. But you, you are a special case. Your mother was a grim reaper, who'd fallen in love with a human. You have always been more grim reaper than human; it was your destiny to become one."

"I didn't commit crimes?"

Irene shook her head. "Molly, you are one of the purest beings I have seen around here. After your training, you'll become a supervisor. The street work is considered a punishment. You don't deserve it."

"What did Sherlock do?" Molly asked, "Was it, Jim Moriarty?"

Irene shrugged.

"Are you seriously telling me he is being punished because he couldn't stop Jim Moriarty? Moriarty should be here, not Sherlock," Molly raised her voice.

Irene looked grim. "Jim Moriarty is serving his punishment somewhere else. His crimes are too severe, even to the standards of the grim reapers. Sherlock Holmes couldn't have prevented those."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I only know what I was told me. The deity didn't deem Sherlock ready for Heaven. Sherlock is not being punished, he's being taught a lesson in humanity since he was an asshole while he was alive. And it is working, right?"

'Yes, yes."

"You can't tell him, Molly. It would cause the opposite effect of what we are trying to accomplish, so you have to promise me you won't."

"I promise," Molly said, a bit overwhelmed. 


	3. Palette

Later, Molly felt trapped by that promise. She wanted to tell him so badly what he hadn't done. His guilt was eating him alive- well, dead. She could hear him, wandering the house or playing the violin restlessly at night. Mrs. Hudson told her he'd been doing that ever since he became a grim reaper.

Molly pitied him. At least she knew how she'd died, why she was a grim reaper, to begin with, and why she didn't go to Heaven. She often thought of Heaven, though. She wondered if her dad was up there. If he'd known her mother was a grim reaper when they were together.

Did her mother know she was a grim reaper now? Was her mother still around?

Molly now realized her mother wasn't dead- yeah, technically she was, yet she still could be around if she hadn't served her full punishment. Her mom wasn't buried in the grave Molly had always visited.

She could actually talk to her mom. That idea was completely new.

Irene had given Molly a business card when she left, so Molly could call her 24/7 if she had any questions or needed help with a soul.

It was 23:20. Molly reached for her iPhone, although hesitated. She'd grown up with happy stories. She always had this idea of an angel in her head. Now she had to face reality, and she wasn't sure if she was ready yet.

Molly unlocked her phone and called Irene.

"Good evening, you're speaking to Irene Adler."

"Hi, Irene. It's Molly Hooper. We spoke a couple of days before, and I have a question. Can I ask it?"

"Yes, yes. Absolutely no problem. I'm working late anyway."

"Do you know what happened to my mother?" Molly asked, "You said she was a grim reaper. That means she must be alive right now."

She heard Irene sigh. "Let me look you up in the system."

Irene was busy typing on her laptop. It took a couple of minutes. "Found it. Your mother goes by the name of Elizabeth Hudson, a name given to her by her landlady. Her last address in England was 221b, Baker Street. She works in New York now, she's head of the grim reaper's facility."

"Do you have a cell phone number?"

"Yes, wait a second." Irene gave Molly the number; Molly wrote it down eagerly.

"Thanks, Irene. I'll see you. Bye."

That meant her mother had lived at Baker Street. She was given a new name by the landlady. Molly ran downstairs. "Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson sat in her kitchen, knitting to some metal band Molly didn't know. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you know my mother?"

She smiled. "The female grim reaper and her human boyfriend that stayed here years ago? Oh yes, I remember them well."

"Someone said you gave my mom her name."

Mrs. Hudson put the knitting needles down. "Sweetheart, please sit down."

Molly did so.

"I am three hundred years old. Before I died and became a goblin, I lived as a happy woman. I helped the poor and ran an orphanage. The deity decided to make me a goblin so I could continue my good work. My daughter, on the other hand, was a menace. She moved to the countryside when she was twenty. She met the wrong guy. They became the Bonnie and Clyde of their time. They killed, drank, lived recklessly. She was twenty-five when she was arrested and sentenced to death. She became a grim reaper afterward. I only heard this years later. She'd told me she didn't want anything to do with me when she moved away. She came back as a grim reaper; her memory was wiped. She needed a place to stay, with someone immortal while she was working in London. I'm one of the few supernatural beings here and the only one that has rooms to rent out. I recognized her immediately; she didn't recognize me. She told me she didn't have a name, so I told her her name was Elizabeth Hudson. She fell in love with a human man, she married him. He knew what she was. She got pregnant and gave birth to a small baby girl. When her supervisors found out, years were added to her punishment. She was forced to move to the United States, forced to leave her husband and baby."

"According to the grim reaper's records, I am her daughter," Molly was silent for a while, "That means I'm your granddaughter."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, smiling. "Indeed, young lady. You turned out just fine."

"Did you ever see her after she left?"

"No. I never told her I was her mother, I'm not supposed to. Being a grim reaper is a punishment, after all. No space or time for a happy family life."

She was crying now. Molly hugged her. "I'm here now."

"Are you going to try to find Elizabeth?""

Molly nodded. "yes, I'm going to try. Irene gave me her number. I want to contact her, as soon as possible."

"You have my blessing, Molly," Mrs. Hudson said, when suddenly, upstairs, a gun started firing.

"Bloody hell," Mrs. Hudson said, "Not again."

"I'll go check on him," Molly offered.

"Thank you. This is the fourth time today already."

"The fourth time," Molly mumbled. She climbed the stairs. "Sherlock? What's going on?"

She opened the door hesitantly. He sat in his chair with his gun pointed at the wall. The smiley face had a sibling now. Painted next to the yellow one, was a new face, painted with purple dye.

"Bored!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Please don't shoot me," Molly said, holding her hands up.

"Oh, hello Molly," Sherlock put the gun down, "What brings you to Baker Street at this late hour?"

"I live here?" Molly mumbled, "I actually wanted to ask you if you would keep me company when I'm calling my mom?"

"Why do you need my company?"

"I haven't spoken to her since I was born. I thought she was dead the entire time. Please?"

"Yes. When are you going to call her?"

"Right now," Molly said. She sat down in John's chair and called. A woman picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Elizabeth Hudson, please?"

"You are already speaking to her. What can I help you with?" The woman spoke with a subtle New York accent.

"My name is Molly Hooper. I got this number from Irene Adler."

She could her the woman gasp. "Molly?"

"Yes," Molly answered, "Do you remember me?"

"Oh darling, why should I forget you? What is my little girl doing with the grim reapers?" She sounded clearly upset. Sherlock looked asking at Molly. "Does she recognize you?"

Molly nodded.

"I am a part grim reaper, part human. I passed away a couple of weeks ago. I couldn't go to Heaven, so they made me a grim reaper."

"I thought you were human," Elizabeth whispered, "My daughter... How's your father?"

"He passed away a couple of years ago. He raised me on his own." Molly talked to her mother for a while.

"Could you come over to New York?" Her mother asked, "I'd love to meet you in real life. I can't leave because I'm the head of the institute."

"Yeah, absolutely. Do you mind if I bring a friend?"

"No, no. The more, the merrier. Text me if you know when you'll be here," Elizabeth said, "I have to go now, I hope to see you soon, Molly."

"Me too. Bye."

Molly put the phone down. "You're going to New York with me," she told Sherlock, "And you can't say no."

* * *

That's how they ended up at Heathrow Airport two days later. Their supervisors had given them permission to leave for a week. Even though they could have easily take a portal to New York, Molly wanted to go with an airplane. Flying would keep them human, in her opinion.

Sherlock had been surprisingly calm with everything. He had agreed to go, helped pack her suitcase and had driven her to the airport.

"I can't remember flying as a human," he told her when they had found their seats, "Is it scary?"

"No," Molly said, "At least, I don't consider it scary."

When the plane took off, Sherlock was scared. "How long is this going to take?" He whispered, "How long do I have to stay in this metal box before I can get out?"

"For about eight hours."

"Eight hours?" Sherlock looked like he'd just heard the worse news in the world, "Eight hours?"

"We have to cross the ocean, what were you expecting?" Molly handed him earphones, "Here. Go watch a movie or sleep. Stay away from alcohol, even though it may look like a good solution for your problems. It isn't, believe me."

Sherlock put his earphones on and started watching a Captain America movie. Molly relaxed and fell asleep. He woke her when they were about to land. "We're here."

"Good," she whispered. New York was hectic, as usual. They took a cab to the Grim Reapers main institute, where her mother was waiting for her. The institute was located in an old church, a place humans couldn't enter. Sherlock took care of the suitcases as Molly knocked on the door. A woman, a striking copy of Molly, opened the door.

'Molly," she whispered.

"Mom," Molly answered. The two women hugged each other, crying. Sherlock walked behind them, shutting his mouth wisely. This was a moment he shouldn't disturb. Molly and her mother had a long talk, in which Molly's mom asked her about Sherlock.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"I don't know," Molly said, "We're not officially dating or something. He's just staying in the same flat. He did kiss me once when we were alive."

"He seems like a good guy. After all, he came to New York with you to support you," Molly's mother smiled, "Take him to Central Park for a walk. Rent a boat. You two need a little rest."

Molly did what her mother had recommended and that's how Sherlock and she ended up on a boat in the middle Central Park.

"It's beautiful," Molly tried to make small talk, "Have you recovered from our flight?"

"Was I this scared of flying when I was a human?"

She shook her head. "You loved flying. You always traveled a lot." She looked at him for a while.

"What do you see?" He asked.

"What do you see?"

"A woman, a grim reaper in her mid-thirties. Insecure about herself, stubborn every now and then. Someone who loves passionately. A former doctor. Someone who has been beaten up by life. What do you see?"

"Love," Molly answered. She held her breath for a moment. "When I look at you, I feel and see love."

He looked at her like she'd something in Chinese. "What does that mean?"

She smiled. "I'm sure you know what it means. It means I'm still in love with you."

He laughed relieved. "You return my feelings, in that case." He leaned in and kissed her briefly before the boat would capsize of the sudden shift of weight.

 _You have to tell him, Molly. Tell him what Irene told you. I don't care if you're ruining the moment, but tell him,_ she thought to herself.

"I spoke with Irene about you. Why you became a grim reaper."

He looked sad and surprised by the sudden change in subject. "What did she say?"

"I am not supposed to tell you, but you need to know, in my opinion. You are suffering, Sherlock, and I hate seeing that. The deity didn't deem you ready for Heaven because you were a bit of an asshole in your past life. You didn't commit an unforgivable crime. You didn't kill anyone. They chose to make you a grim reaper to learn you about humans and make you a bit softer, to humanize you a bit."

He was quiet for a very long time. "Thank you, for telling me this. Knowing this does not mean I will stop being kinder to people or caring. I cared a lot when I was alive. It didn't show, but I did. I should have shown it more, especially to you, Molly Hooper. My Molly Hooper."

"I'm happy," she spoke, "My mother asked about you earlier, you know. If you were my boyfriend."

"Tell her I am. Tell her I'm not going anywhere." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And the last one! I hope you all enjoyed this small ficlet, please comment or leave kudos if you did! I'll post "Double Trouble Couple" tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> * Edited quote from "Goblin"  
> ** Quote from "Goblin", by Ji Eun Tak


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